I splurged on the hotel's rather pricey breakfast buffet, but I gorged myself in the various meats and cheeses and had three cups of cappuccino. I dillydallied by fiddling quite a bit on my packing as I wasn't happy with the balance riding from the airport.
The cycling infrastructure along the Belgian roads is inconsistent, sometimes a bike lane, sometimes just marked "shadows", once in a while a good track, and oftentimes no more than riding on the sidewalk. Getting out of Brussels was a frustrating medley of surface textures (I especially hated the rough cobblestones) and hopping up and down curbs. It's slow going as negotiating all the bumps at my normal speed could throw me off the bike. Out in the countryside the bike lanes are in mediocre condition and in the villages they have a bad habit of parking cars on them. Unlike Holland I saw few cyclists. I think Ottawa has more people commuting by bike than Brussels.
The terrain undulates in low hills which got higher the farther south I venture. I expect steep hills heading into the Ardenes towards Luxembourg, so this is like gradual acclimatization. I can see how this area was difficult to fight over in the war, with ridge after ridge that could give either side an advantage.
Midway into the ride I noticed serious cracks starting to form on my tires from the bumpy ride. I knew my rear tire was reaching its end of life, I had bought it in Saskatoon and it's gone across North America one and a half times. I got a little paranoid would completely split and explode so I took the bumps extra carefully and avoided rinding over debris.
The ride to Mons is only about 60 kilometres, but I started to get worried about getting there in time because I wanted to met the city's historian and archivist who is also in charge of centennial commemorations. I had emailed him and said I would show up in the sometime in the afternoon. This being a Friday, my window was tight if Belgians tend to leave work early for the weekend.
I am carrying with me a version of the banners commemorating the end of First World War that I designed to give to the city. I really want to do this as I think they contextually and spiritually belong Mons, and leaving them here would be such a fitting beginning to my journey as my work on them had inspired this trip.
The main road into Mons got busier and more bike-hostile so I decided to take a different route across a canal which was crucial barrier in the first battles. I trusted my GPS to lead me there but instead it led me deeper into a narrow trail lined with prickly raspberry bushes and stinging nettle. I should have turned around right away but I got stubborn after having invested a few hundred metres into it. There was also no room to manoeuvre an about face without contending with the nasty plants. Finally I spotted the road about 25 feet up a steep 45 degree berm. The slope was thick with trees with low hanging branches, but I was on the warpath as if something was testing me whether or not I could get there in time. I crawled up the least overgrown gap, breaking branches along the way and dragging my heavy loaded bike up sideways on dirt and dead leaves. Throughout it, I just thought of the emotional rollercoaster I had to go through the week prior (which I won't get into detail) that threatened to prevent me from doing this. After lifting it over the roadway railing I let out a victorious holler.
I dusted myself off and rode through the hamlet of Nimy and into the winding streets of the old town. Suddenly I found myself in the Grand Place. I had traced the facade of the Hotel-de-ville as the background pattern of the Parks Canada version of the banner from a picture, and here I am seeing it in person. I felt a nervous energy going through the archway. Into the inner courtyard, I found a discreet spot to lock my bike and changed into a clean presentable shirt, then went in search of Monsieur Roussman. I said I would arrive between 2 and 3 p.m. to give me leeway, it was 2:45.
He was ecstatic to receive the banners, and said my timing could not have been more coincidental because he was at a NATO Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) ceremony in the morning where a print of the painting "Return to Mons" was presented as a gift. All the trouble I went through to do this suddenly seemed worth it, and I know that these banners will find meaningful purpose here come November 11. We had a very long and interesting chat in his office, and when the topic drifted to Arthur Currie who was the brilliant commander of the Canadian Corps, he casually reached for the City's old Livre d'Or and let me leaf through the pages where Currie had signed it during the Armistice of 1918. We went out onto the Grand Place because he wanted a picture of the two of us with the banner. We continued our discussion over a beer.
It was getting late when I went in search of a bike shop for a tire replacement. The bike mechanic was kind enough to put my bike on his stand and fine tune the adjustments which were slightly off after disassembly for the plane ride. I also had to get to my host for the night, Luc, who had agreed to let me set up my tent in his backyard
All in all it was a great day, and I feel closure and a calm quiet pride that I had done the simple gesture that was important to me without much fanfare.
